LITMIR.BIZ

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Ellaline had exhausted her attempts to prevent Keightley speaking, she relapsed into a sullen silence.

      When Keightley began it was as if he were talking to himself again, as if neither of them were there. David remained standing all the time the story was being told, and Ellaline crouched before the fire. Keightley had the gift of arresting attention.

      "Dusk, and the evening stars. Curious to recall them here in the fog. I always knew I should one day tell the story of how Pierre Lamotte came by his death. But I thought it would have been in verse. … "

      He paused for a moment, sighed a little affectedly, and went on:

      "The river that evening was a sheet of silver until the mist rose, and then everything became a little unreal and mystic, exquisitely beautiful. We sat in the dinghy, Pierre Lamotte and I, and talked about literature—literature and art. Pierre told me again, as he had told me so many times before, of visions he had seen under opium, of rivers to which this one was a mere muddy stream, of mists on mountain tops dissolving to show a glorious dawn, of the red sun rising on snow-clad peaks. We spoke of the experiment that was to be made after dinner.

      "I had never taken opium, and neither had Ellaline. Claudine Bosquet was an expert. Nicholson was coming to show us two amateurs how it was done, and how we could obtain the greatest effect. Claudine talked to Ellaline about it in a hushed voice in the drawing-room, whilst Pierre told me in the dinghy. Nicholson had lived in Paris, was known to Pierre, had once attended him when he had gone too far in his favourite pastime, and lay insensible for a day and a half.

      "I was excited at the prospect. I talked well that night at dinner. Gad! how well I talked! Afterwards, whilst we were waiting for Nicholson, Claudine played the piano and Ellaline sang. The piano had been pushed into the dining-room. Kito meanwhile prepared the drawing-room for the coming séance.

      "In the drawing-room the big black divans were heaped with cushions, there were no chairs: dull red matting was on the floor, no lights but one small lamp, modern, but of antique design; beside it lay a copper tray and four opium pipes. The women were in loose white gowns, Pierre and I in smoking suits. One side of the drawing-room was open to the river; the mist was still rising—a wet, white mist—and we heard Nicholson's boat without seeing it, a mysterious splash of oars and lapping of waters. Nicholson, when he came on board, would not let us talk. He arranged us in the opium attitude, so that our dreams should be of Paradise. Ellaline was to lie beside me, her head in the hollow of my hip; Madame Bosquet in the same way with Pierre.

      "Ellaline was desperately nervous, and I could feel she was cold through her thin, loose clothes. Nicholson cooked over the lamp, like a strange Aladdin; the opium seethed and bubbled; he moulded it with his fingers into little balls, placing them in the pipes, handing them to us, one after the other, without saying a word.

      "I had hardly taken my first whiff, and Ellaline, I believe, had made but a coughing pretence, when I saw Pierre get up. Then everything became rather hazy, and all I remember was the tangle of stars, and that the mist lifted. So I drifted into Nirvana. I loved my Ellaline and all the beautiful world; wonderful illuminating phrases came to me, and I saw into the heart of things. There were vases filled with exotic flowers, exquisite warm scents and sounds of music, shapes, half divine, of women and children floated before me … "

      He paused for a moment as if remembering. Then in a sudden change of mood went on:

      "Now, Ellaline, I have given you a start. Tell us what happened next. You had one whiff. … "

      She took up the tale from him, but when she spoke it was as if she were speaking in her sleep—speaking through suggestion, and involuntarily.

      "I did not really inhale it: I was frightened of the drug, and of the whole thing. I never wanted to do it, but you persuaded me. You could have persuaded me to anything then."

      "And now," he put in, smiling lightly. David made an impatient gesture, and Ellaline went on as if she had noticed no interruption.

      "I hated the smell of the pipes, and I was cold and uncomfortable. Then you fell asleep "

      "Not quite."

      "You seemed fast asleep, and I slid out of your arms and got up. Madame Bosquet was sleeping, too, but Mr. Lamotte was standing looking at the river. We watched Dr. Nicholson get into his boat and row off … " She stopped abruptly, and it was Keightley presently who continued the narrative.

      "You stood a long time beside Pierre, and at first he talked poetry, but found you unresponsive. At dinner he had paid you compliments, and your bridling had led him to think you were open to his advances. They don't understand your methods in Paris, your insatiable vanity and desire for indiscriminate admiration, your fickle, futile flirtatiousness. David, here, does not understand, either. Nobody in England but I knows the soul of the dancer, of the light woman who is nevertheless virtuous, who will take everything but gives nothing: who never loves, but sometimes feebly desires. You liked Pierre's compliments: were proud to score off Claudine, off me, even, a little. Perhaps you thought of an engagement in the new play; of advancing in your profession. But most probably you never thought at all when you sat down in the deck-chair with Pierre beside you, whilst he told you how lovely you were, and that he had become madly enamoured of you, that you must go back to Paris with him. …

      "Claudine slept on, I slept on, dreaming exquisitely. You and Pierre talked under the stars. The hour got late, and later. … "

      Now the girl on the hearthrug covered her face with her hands—the fire had caught her cheeks. David saw the sudden scarlet.

      "My pipe got cold and went out. I was conscious of my surroundings, a little dreamy still. But, of course, when I am half asleep I am wider awake than most people. Madame Bosquet roused herself, and said she would finish her sleep in bed. You came over and stood beside me, asked if it was as nice as I had anticipated. You were nervous and excited. Pierre's love-making had gone a little beyond what you intended or expected. As far as you were capable of caring for anyone, you cared for me, and your move towards me was for protection—protection against the danger you yourself had brought about. Pierre followed you; stood beside you looking down at me. He asked if I had had enough; said he could fill me another pipe, knew how to do it as well as Nicholson. I held out my hand—it was really for yours—but he put the pipe into it, went over to the tray, warmed a little pellet over the flame of the lamp, came back and dropped it into the pipe I held——"

      You went to sleep again," she interrupted hastily.

      "No."

      "He said we must leave you undisturbed—that it would be dangerous to wake you."

      "You were frightened of Pierre by now—a little frightened, but flattered, flattered by the passion with which your beauty had inspired him; your beauty and your complaisance! Even then you could not tell him straightforwardly and definitely that you were playing with him, that you meant nothing. You relied upon—Heaven only knows upon what you relied.

      "You moved away again, and now I only feigned to inhale my pipe. I had heard his amorous whispers, seen your moist, half-opened lips and shining, startled eyes. I think I must have slept again nevertheless. When I woke the stars were no longer in the heavens, and there was nothing but grey river mists and the water lip-lapping against the sides of the boat. It was then I heard your frightened cry."

      Her head sunk lower. David had the inclination to lay his hand upon it, upon the soft yellow of its dishevelment.

      "Need we have any more of this?" he said.

      "Does it bore you?" Keightley asked, apparently surprised. "I bought I was telling the story rather well. It's new stuff, you will admit, won't you? Opium parties were very common in Paris that season—quite the rage amongst the intellectuals. I thought you would like to hear about this one: it was very picturesque and original—the boat and the river, and all that. I had a terrific headache the next day, I remember, and did not get rid of it until Kito mixed me some specific of his own. Kito is very near to being a physician. I never can understand how you do without a man," he said carelessly to Devenish, getting up

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